This is a must-have for anybody who has a soft spot for zombies, like myself. This book was a Christmas gift, and I enjoyed it immensely.

However, I haThis is a must-have for anybody who has a soft spot for zombies, like myself. This book was a Christmas gift, and I enjoyed it immensely.

However, I have to echo what some others have said about it... it's a pretty one-note book. The joke doesn't waver. I think that's perfectly fine, though, since that's kind of the point (metahumor, perhaps?).

The only thing that bugged me about it was the "totally-dude-bro" voice of the author, which was irritating enough for me to drop two stars from my rating. Admittedly, this tone fostered a couple of one-liners and paragraphs that literally had me laughing out loud, and reading them aloud to my wife. However, most of the time it was grating and sometimes bordered on embarrassing, especially coupled with the repetitive nature of the jokes themselves.

The reason that the Max Brooks zombie books are so good is because Brooks plays it straight. I think this book could have been funnier if Kenemore took that approach, too, as it would have added a more effective spoof of self-help to the continuous riff on the stereotypical zombie.

Even so, it's a light, fast, and mostly funny read, and belongs on the shelf of anybody who counts themselves a fan of zombies....more

This is a deadly gas little book that is a good read for those interested in Irish culture. It is divided into three sections: Irish slang, sex/love tThis is a deadly gas little book that is a good read for those interested in Irish culture. It is divided into three sections: Irish slang, sex/love throughout Ireland's history, and Irish recipes. While the topics certainly aren't covered in depth (most of the book is written with tongue planted firmly in cheek), they do contain the right mixture of silliness and interesting trivia.

I had no idea what "craic" was before reading this book, and I can't wait to try out the recipe for Steak and Guinness Pie. It was also amusing to see the look on my wife's face when I called her a fine bit of stuff.

While I'll continue to seek out more serious-minded books to address my curiosity towards all things Ireland, this amusing book is going right on the living-room shelf in me gaff....more

Fool is Christopher Moore's retelling of the Shakespeare tragedy King Lear, told from the viewpoint of Pocket, the mysterious fool that plays a somewhFool is Christopher Moore's retelling of the Shakespeare tragedy King Lear, told from the viewpoint of Pocket, the mysterious fool that plays a somewhat minor role in the original work. Moore's version of the bard's tragedy, however, is hilariously and unapologetically inaccurate, drawing characters, dialogue, and entire scenes from other Shakespearean works. The prose also strays decidedly away from Shakespearean English, rife as it is with anachronisms from every conceivable British era and run through the filter of Moore's distinctly American brand of humor.

If this alone is not enough to rouse fans of Shakespeare against the novel, the story is bawdy enough to give Chaucer a run for his money; nearly every page contains at least one reference to sex or masturbation, and the ones that don't give appropriately Shakespearean scenes of torture and gore.

The book is filled to the brim with bad puns, tawdry sex, and absurd, almost random humor. Some surely hate it. I can't think of anything more to ask from a book, and finished it in under a week, smiling the whole time. As with his other books, Moore certainly doesn't fail to amuse with Fool... this version of King Lear is certainly less depressing than the original, if nothing else....more

I've been finding that I really want to read light, humorous stories lately, and while a story that revolves around death is not exactly light, Moore'I've been finding that I really want to read light, humorous stories lately, and while a story that revolves around death is not exactly light, Moore's sense of humor never fails to disappoint.

A Dirty Job is the story of Charlie Asher, a self-professed "Beta Male" that counts himself lucky to have what quiet blessings he possesses: a second-hand shop in San Francisco, a smart and lovely wife who inexplicably (in his eyes) loves him, and a baby on the way. Things start to go awry for Charlie, however, when he meets a tall, dark stranger who insists that Charlie shouldn't be able to see him. From there, not only does Charlie's carefully cultivated personal life start unraveling, but he begins to experience increasingly stranger phenomena, such as names magically appearing in his datebook, objects glowing with a light only he can see, people mysteriously dying when he comes to call, and shadowy bird-women catcalling him from passing storm drains. Charlie has been tapped for the timeless occupation of shuffling souls through the mortal coil, but just as he begins to process that realization, things get even stranger, and considerably more hazardous.

I don't want to give too much of the story away, because frankly, there isn't a whole lot of story to spoil. Astute readers will guess the "big reveal" well before it happens, possibly before they finish the first chapter (and this, I believe, is a conscious decision of the author). And much of the early part of the book revolves around trying to figure out just what exactly is going on, to the point where it took me about half of the book to tie together all of the disparate storylines and supernatural doings. Thankfully, this process is well lubricated by Moore's willingness to stop early and often to throw in a one-liner, most of which are hilarious. By the time everything starts making sense, the story ramps up considerably, with a great deal of sudden suspense and a surprisingly bittersweet conclusion.

Despite this story being told with Moore's trademark absurd wit, A Dirty Job handles death and grief in a very poignant manner. Moore's afterword reveals that the story was inspired by the care of his dying mother, and the resulting experience shows in a number of key scenes in the book. The believable (sometimes painfully so) way in which the book's characters prepare for death, mourn their loved ones, and deal with their grief provides a nice counterpoint to the goofy humor, and a common theme for all of the book's crazy characters and plot devices to share.

I honestly didn't know whether I was going to like this one as I started it, but the more I read A Dirty Job, the more I realized that this might be my favorite of Moore's. Of course, I still have quite a few of his books left to read. But this one is definitely a gem....more

Another light, humorous read from Christopher Moore, this time dealing with my favorite subject in the whole wide world (note the sarcasm, there): vamAnother light, humorous read from Christopher Moore, this time dealing with my favorite subject in the whole wide world (note the sarcasm, there): vampire relationships. This one has all of Moore’s hallmarks, and I enjoyed reading it, but it seems oddly incomplete and not as satisfying as his other books.

The story follows a cute, somewhat awkward redhead named Jody, as she finds herself suddenly and without preamble attacked and transformed into a creature of the night. Left to her own devices to survive and adapt to her new lifestyle on the streets of San Francisco, Jody crosses paths with a young, naïve aspiring writer named Tommy, a new transplant who happens to work the graveyard shift at the local Safeway. What begins as an arrangement of convenience (free lunch, a place to stay, and a bona fide minion that can move around in the daylight, with the occasional sex thrown in for good measure) starts to become something more, but their new romance is threatened by the ancient vampire that created Jody, who has a bad habit of leaving corpses connected to Tommy around for the police to find. The unlikely couple joins forces with the Animals (Tommy’s aimless stoner coworkers on the graveyard shift) and the Emperor of San Francisco (a noble homeless man with his men-at-arms, a golden retriever named Lazarus and a vampire-hunting Boston Terrier named Bummer) to track down and stop the killer before he tires of his cat-and-mouse game and removes Tommy from the picture.

Despite having Moore’s trademark zaniness, the story actually doesn’t move very fast. The subtitle of this book is “a love story,” and Moore seems to take that rather seriously; the meat of the narrative is dedicated towards Jody’s internal conflict as she balances her growing feelings for Tommy against the new powers and sensations that come with being a supernatural predator. It is only near the end that the pace picks up, when her creator returns and threatens to take matters into his own hands. The nature of Jody’s internal conflict changes, here, too: not only can this other vampire teach her how to manage her new unlife, but he can also experience and share the world in the same unique way that she can (and Tommy can’t).

That all makes the book sound deep and serious. Remember, this is Christopher Moore. The reality is that most of the book is spent on sex and absurd humor. As odd as it sounds, however, the humor doesn’t quite do it for me this time around. The one-liners seem a bit more forced and the crazy hijinks a little more contrived than they do in Moore’s other books. Not so much that I didn’t find them hilarious anyway, of course, but they don’t hold up well to my other favorites of his. Many of the funny non-sequiturs early in the story are recycled later as clunky plot devices, which did bother me a little. And I really feel like the story is missing something, standing on its own; I finished the book somewhat unsatisfied, feeling like there were too many things left unexplained and too many potentially interesting plot twists that were unexplored.

This is perfect for a light read, though, and a must-read for anybody who has read and enjoyed Moore’s other works. The characters are all incredibly funny and likable, and a few even have their moments of tragedy. I don’t particularly find Tommy all that interesting, but everyone else (especially Jody and the Emperor) was a joy to read. And it looks like the sequel, You Suck, picks up immediately where this one leaves off. Depending on how that one strikes me, this book might almost seem like the first part of one story, rather than a book all its own. ...more

You Suck is a direct sequel to Moore’s last vampire comedy, Bloodsucking Fiends, and picks up almost exactly where that one leaves off. This one has tYou Suck is a direct sequel to Moore’s last vampire comedy, Bloodsucking Fiends, and picks up almost exactly where that one leaves off. This one has the same characters in the same kinds of situations, peppered with Moore’s usual raunchiness and absurdity. Much as I hate to admit it, though, I didn’t really like this one as much as Moore’s other books.

The book begins with the curtain opening on the ill-fated couple from the first book, Jody and Tommy. Elijah Ben Sapir is safely trapped in bronze, and Tommy is a brand new vampire, finally able to share Jody’s unlife as an equal rather than a minion. Meanwhile, the Animals, newly rich from hawking the art stolen from Elijah’s boat in the first book, go on an epic bender in Vegas and come back under the financial and sexual thrall of a blue hooker named Blue (appropriately enough). A whip-smart faux-Goth girl named Abby Normal is introduced as the vampires’ new minion, and cameos abound from the always lovable Emperor and eternally besieged inspectors Rivera and Cavuto. Things get complicated when Blue’s secret ambitions begin to unfold, drawing Tommy and the Animals in with them, and come to a head when Elijah escapes his confinement, newly energized and thirsting for revenge. Underneath the various shenanigans, Tommy begins to weigh his love for Jody against the general horror involved with being one of the undead.

The story is about as confusing and aimless as the above paragraph, unfortunately. This one doesn’t quite read as well as Bloodsucking Fiends; the main plot doesn’t have a lot of energy, and the various side stories don’t really go anywhere. Moore again makes an attempt at blending raunchy humor with stirring sentiment, which he sort of achieved in Bloodsucking Fiends and absolutely nailed in A Dirty Job, but it just wasn’t doing anything for me here. The love story seemed like an afterthought to the sex, violence, and one-liners; it literally resurfaces at the end of the book, abruptly and without a whole lot of introspection. Speaking of the ending, this book ends even more abruptly than the last one, and with much less elegance. Brand new characters show up at the last minute to solve some problems, and the rest of the story is frozen (fairly literally) without any resolution except for Moore’s patented humor. I have absolutely loved every Christopher Moore book I’ve read up until now, but sadly, I couldn’t really get into this one. Especially considering that I was hoping for a more robust (well, robust for Moore, anyway) story after the enjoyable but weirdly unsatisfying Bloodsucking Fiends.

All of that being said, the book is still saucy and witty the same way that all of his other books are, and is still fun to read. The Emperor gets less page time here, unfortunately, but it’s more than made up for by the hilarious diary entries of Abby Normal (who, by the way, has her role here cleverly foreshadowed in A Dirty Job). But I really would only recommend it to those who have read Bloodsucking Fiends. And even then, these books are my least favorite of Moore’s works, which saddens me a little bit, considering that there’s a lot to like about them. They are clever and funny, but are just a little anemic when it comes to actual story. Perfect light read material, though....more

I’ve been following Wil Wheaton for quite some time, mostly by happenstance. I stumbled upon his blog back around 2001 or so, led there by my long-staI’ve been following Wil Wheaton for quite some time, mostly by happenstance. I stumbled upon his blog back around 2001 or so, led there by my long-standing fondness of Star Trek: The Next Generation, and ended up being a fairly active participant on the message boards he maintained at the time. Since then, I’ve enjoyed watching him on his ascendant path to nerd spokesman, but for some reason have never gotten around to reading any of his books until now. While this one is a little rough around the edges in a few places, it delivers a perfect mix of snark and nostalgia.

The book is a collection of short reviews that Wil originally published online with AOL TV Squad. The reviews cover the first thirteen episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation’s uneven first season, and Wil apparently subjected himself to extensive rewatches while writing them in order to refresh his memory. If you own the series on DVD or have access to Netflix streaming, I highly suggest you do what I did: follow his example and watch each episode before reading its review. It definitely heightens the experience.

The first season of TNG has its high points, but it often swings between unintentionally hilarious and plain awful. Honestly, it’s hard to take seriously the vision of the future presented by the hair and makeup stylists of the late 1980s (I sensing something, Captain. Aqua Net. Aqua Net and... and rouge. So... much... rouge!) Wil calls out the inherent silliness of these early episodes from the perspective of someone who worked behind the scenes, enriching the hilarity with trivia and personal recollections. Best of all, he does it with a palpable fondness, contrasting the ridiculous bits with the truly good ones, and taking plenty of time to give credit to his wonderful costars as they navigated through a show with questionable writing but enormous potential.

The only problem I have with the book comes from the format it was initially presented in, I think. Wil initially wrote each review as a humorous online column. Thus, he packs a lot of one-liners into each chapter, and flavors them with plenty of inside baseball from Star Trek and general nerd culture. Being a Star Trek nerd, I appreciated most of these asides, but there was a groaner every now and then. It was never enough to detract from my enjoyment of the book, but a few paragraphs skirted the line of reaching just a bit too much for a joke.

Minor quibble, easily forgotten. Honestly, this is a great book for anybody who has ever watched the series, and a perfect companion piece for watching it again. It’s also worth looking at for anybody who has a general interest in science fiction, since it offers an acerbic and often hilarious look at a seminal science-fiction franchise. ...more

I've been meaning to get to this one for a quite a while, since I find a definite appeal in mixing British politeness with undead hordes. This was anI've been meaning to get to this one for a quite a while, since I find a definite appeal in mixing British politeness with undead hordes. This was an immensely fun read, but I did have my quibbles with it.

A synopsis shouldn't be necessary; this is Austen's Pride and Prejudice, set on the same story framework and supported with passages directly from the original text. What's changed here is the context. This version of the English countryside is under siege by "the strange plague," and bands of "unfortunate stricken" roam through the manicured gardens and forest lanes, devouring the brains of those who cross their path. The Bennett sisters, Mr. Darcy, and even Catherine de Bourgh are recast as skilled zombie-slayers, trained in the Orient and merciless in their occupation. As such, the social and romantic trials of Elizabeth Bennett take on a new seriousness against the backdrop of mortal danger from the claws and teeth of hungry zombies.

This really is as clever as it sounds, and works better than one would think it would. However, the mixing of the two genres isn't as seamless as would be ideal. Occasionally, the blend works well; oddly enough, it's the violent scenes that work best. Some confrontations between characters are reworked as kung fu duels, and strolls to and from the village become harried defenses against roving zombies. These scenes are not only hilarious to read, but actually contribute to the pace and tone of the story quite well. However, more subtle instances of Dawn of the Dead-ing in other parts of the book aren't quite as graceful. I sometimes felt like it was overly obvious where Grahame-Smith pasted his own sentences in Austen's paragraphs, which made those parts seem more gimmicky than I would have liked. I almost wish that this would have been an original story, rather than a reimagined one. I think I would very much enjoy a Regency novel with supernatural elements worked directly into the tapestry of the plot and characters, rather than simply stitched on top. For that reason, I'm very curious about the recently-released prequel.

Of course, part of my problem might be that I've never been a prime candidate for being an Austen fan to begin with, since I am not an independent-minded woman with occasional fantasies that feature Colin Firth as Fitzwilliam Darcy. Though I very much like the story and characters of Pride and Prejudice, getting through Austen's language was trying for me even here, with the occasionally zombie attack and martial arts duel to grab my attention (and, conversely, make the Regency stuff stick out even more). Of course, that's my weakness, not that of the writing.

All that being said, this is definitely worth reading for anyone who likes Austen, has a soft spot for zombies, or is just an avid reader of current popular fiction. The problems I found are minor, and highly subjective; overall, this is a wonderfully quirky and enjoyable book to read....more

This book and its sequels are currently all the rage among the middle-school reader set. I’ve gotten rave reviews from kids and sniffing disdain fromThis book and its sequels are currently all the rage among the middle-school reader set. I’ve gotten rave reviews from kids and sniffing disdain from hype-sensitive gatekeepers, so I checked it out for myself. Not exactly an example of great fiction for young people, but I have to admit: it’s kind of hilarious.

Diary of a Wimpy Kid boasts a very simple premise: it is the journal (complete with handwritten entries and drawings) of Greg Heffley, a sarcastic middle-school student who does his best to navigate the waters of goofy friends, hapless parents, angry teachers, and the “morons” he must share the school with every day. The book unfolds in a series of vignettes that chart a schoolyear in the life of Greg. There are a few consistent story threads, but the book is mostly dedicated to the various schemes that Greg cooks up with his best friend Rowley, the myriad ways in which they go wrong, and the improbable ways in which Greg attempts to save his own day.

The book is an extremely lightweight read, but the humor is just right. It has just the right amount of gross-out “boy humor” without being needlessly crass, and is still witty enough to be genuinely funny in some places. It’s not Newbery material, for sure, and there isn’t much to digest; a diligent reader can easily knock this one back in well under an hour. But it really is pretty funny, and reading the exploits of a wimpy but sharp character like Greg is more than a little cathartic for those of us that didn’t really have a good time when we were in junior high.

I knocked off a star for one reason: funny as he is, Greg is kind of a little jackass. I think I am only reacting to this because I am soon to be a father to a son, myself, and am somewhat afraid of having to deal with a child who finds manipulation, deception, and plain old selfishness so acceptable and humorous. Greg proves to be a pretty good kid by the end, but not until the last minute. Honestly, I’m a little chagrined that I even care about this, considering how lighthearted this read is supposed to be taken (and how surprisingly funny I found it). Still, I can see that being a concern for parents who want to give this to their kid. Take note: Greg Heffley is basically an older and smarter Dennis the Menace with slightly more impulse control.

Not too shabby, all-in-all. I find the format to be interesting, and how popular it is proving among young readers especially so. It’s somewhere between light novel, blog, and graphic novel, since it was originally a continuous webcomic. So, not the best literacy tool, but definitely a good read for kids who usually stick to comic books. And yes, I do think there’s enough here for childish adults (ahem) to enjoy, as well....more

I've been meaning to read Mary Roach ever since her first book starting garnering acclaim. Now that she's got an entire lineup, I figured I'd start wiI've been meaning to read Mary Roach ever since her first book starting garnering acclaim. Now that she's got an entire lineup, I figured I'd start with Bonk, because as far as I'm concerned, it's pretty hard to miss with a humorous book about sex. For the most part, I was right; this book was consistently hilarious and more informative than I thought it would be.

As others have pointed out, though, calling this a book about sex would be slightly misleading. This is a book about sex researchers, and it sketches out a quirky history of how we have tried to chart, catalog, and understand how sex works. The book covers the usual suspects (Masters and Johnson, Alfred Kinsey, etc.), but also includes more than you'd ever thought you'd learn about pig insemination, rhesus monkey courting rituals, and uterine contractions in hamsters, among other things. Each chapter focuses on a particular aspect of modern sexuality- male impotence, for instance, or female orgasmic ability- and unravels an eclectic and often bizarre mix of interview, citation, and the occasional personal anecdote that sets out to explain how science has attempted to catch up to them.

Roach's footnotes play a starring role, too. Most pages are peppered with footnotes that lead to somewhat random asides. These tidbits often have only a tangential relationship to the material, but are so weird and interesting that I began looking forward to them.

I tore through this book, and had only one minor qualm with it, which I've only now been able to elucidate now that I've read some other people's thoughts on it. At first I thought it might be that the concept wasn't unified, but it really was; the material is organized decently and reads very well. Then I thought I was bothered by the pages where Roach suddenly gets coy, ostensibly because she doesn't want to embarrass her children. Bonk presents a readable mix of the clinical and the explicit, but every now and again Roach suddenly becomes a little demure; the chapter on sex machines comes to mind, for example. Honestly, though, I find it difficult to keep my dignity intact while arguing that I want to be more titillated.

I've realized what it is now, though. As fearless and thorough as this book is, its scope is weirdly limited. For all its humor, it sticks to the clinical mood set by the studies it documents. Heterosexual vaginal intercourse is the star player, and anything else... say, oral or anal sex... is only given its due at the periphery. There are entire chapters on orgasms, and they are often presented in the context of fertility rather than recreation. Now, don't get me wrong... I was actually fascinated by the studies that tried to link female orgasmic response with conception, and the implications that had for human sexuality. I just thought that the book could have gone in more directions with the material. Especially considering the end, where Roach discussed Masters and Johnson's findings that committed homosexual couples have, qualitatively, the most satisfying sex... and then the book ends. Wait, what? Let's talk about that a little more!

That doesn't make this book any less fun to read, though. Roach is a deliciously funny author, and her take on this subject is provocative and educational without being raunchy or offensive. I'd definitely recommend this to readers with low inhibitions....more

This was a quick read that elicited a lot of sympathetic head-nodding and a few wry grins, but didn't really ignite a whole lot of deep thought. I meaThis was a quick read that elicited a lot of sympathetic head-nodding and a few wry grins, but didn't really ignite a whole lot of deep thought. I mean, that wasn't really the point of the book, I guess. It follows the same curmudgeonly formula as Truss's previous book, this time tackling our society's ubiquitous rudeness instead of the misuse of punctuation. This one doesn't quite hit the same right notes, though.

Truss admits right off the bat that she is writing a "moral homily" that doesn't have any real point other than to bemoan the obvious. So, I suppose that it isn't much surprise when that's exactly what I got. The book is divided into six separate chapters, each of which covers a distinct form of self-entitled rudeness that forms the current social status quo. The chapters are really mini-essays that are a mix of personal anecdotes, muddled citations from other books, and funny asides. The effect is essentially like reading an exceptionally long blog rant.

Truss certainly isn't off the mark here, but ranting about rude people is a little less satisfying than ranting about comma abuse. I think we can all agree that class divisions are Bad and politeness for politeness's sake is Good, so what we're left with is: rude people suck, and we should treat people like we want to be treated. Okay. The book is short, though, so the point isn't overly belabored.

The most interesting part, to me, is one of the random asides where Truss contrasts British and American society. Her observations of rudeness are presented through the lens of traditional English restraint and passive-aggression, and she has an amusing love-hate relationship with American directness that would both stop rudeness in its tracks and is uniquely rude, itself.

Other than that, though, this was just a short, idle read for me. It was amusing, but didn't really go anywhere... I'd recommend Eats Shoots and Leaves as a more effective example of Truss's wit....more

I see the Septimus Heap books often mentioned in lists of must-read YA series, and considering what a hit the Harry Potter series was with me, I figurI see the Septimus Heap books often mentioned in lists of must-read YA series, and considering what a hit the Harry Potter series was with me, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with another boy wizard. Magyk is strong in some respects, and fails in others; most notably, it doesn’t really have the kind of crossover appeal that adult readers are coming to expect from books that are ostensibly for “young adults.” However, that’s not at all a bad thing, and not even that surprising, considering that the book is definitely aimed at children rather than at teens. Magyk’s lighthearted charm makes it a fun read, and a perfect book for young readers.

Magyk is the first book in the Septimus Heap series, but Septimus himself doesn’t really play much of a role. Well, he does, but the reader doesn’t find out how until the last few pages. Instead, the book focuses on the travails of the Heap family, a large and somewhat goofy clan of wizards that live in the cozy warrens of a sprawling castle complex. A violent upheaval in the ExtraOrdinary Wizard’s tower reveals the true heritage of the Heaps’ adopted daughter, Jenna, and they are forced to flee to the nearby marshes, pursued by the necromancer DomDaniel. Accompanied by the usurped ExtraOrdinary Wizard Marcia Overstrand, along with a hapless hostage from DomDaniel’s Young Army, the Heaps hide out on a pastoral marsh island while considering their next move. But as Marcia fights to return to the tower, Jenna and the boy from the Young Army discover the beginnings of their own destinies hidden beneath the marsh.

The story is straightforward and unpretentious. This is an irreverent adventure tale that revels in its own sense of humor, and while it builds a framework for the future books’ larger mythology, it doesn’t have much in the way of grand story arcs or tangled plot threads. Magyk is more about humor and wonder than anything else, and in this respect, it succeeds wonderfully.

However, this is unmistakably a children’s book. The twists and reveals are not difficult to puzzle out, and the moments of conflict (internal and external) are rudimentary and predictable. Oddly enough, this stands in stark contrast to a number of moments in the book that are genuinely grim and intense. The jarring shifts in tone struck me as odd, but would definitely make for a scary read for children, and maybe even younger teens. My biggest complaint is with the characters; none of them are particularly true to themselves. Magyk has a lot of characters to deal with, including a host of talking animals and magical objects, and we don’t get to spend a lot of time learning about and sympathizing with any of them. Thus, most of them are relegated to their appointed stereotypes, where they pause from the role much too often for the occasional cheap laugh. There is a lot of slapstick in this book, even from the important and powerful characters, and most of it occurs for no good reason. Again, it was irritating to me, but probably would be delightful to most young readers. Jenna and Boy 412 are exceptions, but even they don’t seem quite fleshed out enough.

Oh, yes, and the random capitalization and creative spelling of every other word. That got annoying very quickly. Yes, they’re doing magic. I mean, uh, Magyk. With their Wandes or their Poshyns or whatever. We understand, Angie. Thanks.

With all of that being said, there really are flashes of brilliance in Magyk. The whimsical surface of the story Sage builds sits atop a very interesting mythology that begs to be explored further. The plot, while simplistic, is tightly written and paced beautifully. The occasional moments of tension and actual violence imply that the dog-slobber jokes could unexpectedly go away and that shit could get real at any moment, which was actually somewhat refreshing. And even the characters, who I didn’t care all that much for, occasionally transcend their shallow presentation and show the promise of interesting development as the books go on.

All of my annoyances with the book have everything to do with my unrealistic expectations. This is clearly a book meant particularly for young readers, and in that respect, it’s a fantastic book. I liked this one enough to check out the next few, in any event. So, even though I found Magyk uneven from a technical standpoint, I’d definitely recommend it to those looking for a good adventure story for children, or just for a quaint, funny fantasy read....more

The title and premise of the collection was enough to attract my interest. OZombies or unicorns: which is superior?!

It’s the…

…the eternal question… ?

The title and premise of the collection was enough to attract my interest. Of course, zombies are better. I mean, seriously, unicorns? Does that even need to be explained? I had to get more on the particulars of that debate. Also, I was goaded into action after reading about somebody somewhere that tried to get this book off of a library shelf, because it allegedly features a gay zombie and unicorn bestiality. Awesome, right? Turns out, there is indeed a gay zombie (who stars in one of the best stories in the collection), and unicorn-boning is marginally more creepy than zombie-boning, which if not technically present is at least heavily implied. With that established, I can wholeheartedly vouch for this entire collection. Even the unicorn-boning.

The collection is edited by two YA authors, Holly Black and Justine Larbalestier. The stories are introduced with their respective commentaries on the debate, with Black establishing herself as a unicorn enthusiast contrasted to Larbalestier’s steadfast support for the undead. Each has enlisted a team of like-minded YA authors to support their cause, which include rock stars like Garth Nix, Scott Westerfeld, Meg Cabot, and Libba Bray, among others. Each team’s stories are then presented in alternating order, with little icons at the top to denote their respective content/allegiances. Furthermore, the editors preface each story with a mix of folkloric background and hilarious snarking at each other.

So, obviously, zombies win, but the unicorn stories are fantastic. Between zombies being the paranormal flavor of the week and the existence of an exhaustive back-catalog of zombie fare, the edgy takes on unicorns were fresh and interesting by comparison. In fact, my favorite story in the collection was Kathleen Duey’s tale of an amoral beast searching for release from its instincts.

Generally speaking, though, the zombie stories are just as original and interesting. Libba Bray’s entry, the final story in the collection, is fantastic enough to demand its own full-length novel. And while I may have my issues with Carrie Ryan’s sulky, mascara-running zombie poutfests, she’s in fantastic form here. Maybe it has something to do with time of exposure, for me; what came off as unnecessary angst in her otherwise great novels seemed to enhance the grim, bittersweet mood in her short story.

The collection has the same peaks and valleys in consistency that all short-story compilations have to deal with, but while there were one or two stories here that didn’t really do anything for me, there’s nothing that I would categorize as weak or not pulling its weight, even when comparing to the ones I liked. Both teams perform admirably, and are likely to make unexpected fans of readers that venture in with their preconceived notions firmly entrenched. Furthermore, this is definitely a book that is meant for older teens, as it deals with some pretty mature themes. By extension, it’s a perfect choice for adult readers who enjoy plot-centric teen lit, if the cast of contributing authors isn’t enough to convince you.

It must be said that, as a thirty-year-old man, carrying around a book called Zombies vs. Unicorns isn’t something I’d normally be proud of, and the instinct to proclaim its virtues would usually be curbed in place of quietly admitting it as a guilty pleasure. Further, it must be said that this isn’t anything that’s going to blow a reader’s mind. But this collection is too much fun. I couldn’t even bring myself to search for nits to pick like I usually do, because I was too busy enjoying tales about killer unicorns and the zombie apocalypse. I guess I could complain about this weird obsession that paranormal and urban fantasy authors have with interspecies romance, but honestly, that’s barely even surprising at this point. This collection is obviously not for readers who take themselves or their books too seriously, but I’d recommend it to anybody who likes zombies, teen lit, fantasy, or just has a taste for something offbeat. It’s hilarious and genuinely creepy by turns, and it's crewed by a seriously talented group of authors....more

I’ve been a dedicated Penny Arcade reader since before they were Internet rock stars with their own convention, children’s charity, webseries, and vidI’ve been a dedicated Penny Arcade reader since before they were Internet rock stars with their own convention, children’s charity, webseries, and video games. As such, it’s not so odd that I’ve only picked up a print version of the comic at the publication of book six, seeing as how I’ve already read every single strip. Should I feel the urge to go back and reread, these strips are still all available for free online. The value of this book is in the added features, just as it would be for a DVD: new commentaries on each comic, slick packaging (though not as slick as previous editions, I am told), and extra content at the end. I’m an enthusiastic fan, so I’m pretty easy to please, but these added features should be enough to sway any fan of the series.

This is not a graphic novel, but a more traditional collection of comic strips with occasional spurts of continuity. For the uninitiated, Penny Arcade is a hilariously crass webcomic that revolves around two gamer protagonists, Gabe and Tycho, along with a revolving misfit cast of recurring characters. Gabe and Tycho are rough analogs of the two personalities behind the comic: artist Mike Krahulik and writer Jerry Holkins, respectively. The humor is a little inside; working knowledge of gaming culture and at least a passing familiarity with current gaming news is usually necessary to get the jokes, though there are occasional exceptions. However, the often obscene strips have a lot to offer for anybody who has an appreciation for the absurd, especially if you enjoy dark sarcasm, snappy dialogue (Holkins/Tycho is an unabashed logophile that uses a symphonic vocabulary both in the strip and in the accompanying commentary), or, well, poop jokes.

This volume collects all the strips published in 2005, and although I think 2004’s bouquet might be a little more piquant, this was a pretty good year for Penny Arcade and its readers. I’m especially fond of Krahulik’s art in this period, although I think that might just be nostalgia talking. Penny Arcade has existed for over a decade now, and the artwork has evolved along with Krahulik over that period. The latest change has occurred in the past year or so, with the characters beginning to look increasingly like they were drawn by John Kricfalusi. Now, I will concede that it is a fascinating exercise to watch an artist try new things and incorporate their various influences into their work as they mature. But I’ve never liked John Kricfalusi's artwork, and so I’m feeling a little sullen about the new look. This book covers the heyday of the clean, angular art that drew so many people to Penny Arcade in the first place, and I really enjoy the novelty of having prints from that time period, if not for entirely objective reasons.

The actual content from this year included more hits than misses, and introduced more than one long-standing character or meme. The Merch is a notable exception, but I’m heartened by Holkins’ commentaries on these strips, which seem to indicate that he was as skeptical of that particular angle as I was. Balancing that out in this volume are two classic, fantastic subplots: Annarchy, and the Elemenstor Saga. The first involves a rare bit of story continuity revolving around Tycho’s eleven-year-old niece Ann, providing a surprisingly funny and poignant take on both Tycho and on Penny Arcade’s general content. Annarchy is living proof that a warm, fuzzy teddy bear lives deep inside a lot of cynical, foul-mouthed gamers like me. The second started as an obscure one-off comic and sparse wiki, and through the machinations of the Penny Arcade fanbase became a sprawling faux-franchise, allegedly covering over a dozen novels, two animated series, and a collectible card game. This meta-narrative is admittedly a little hard to appreciate, being that it lives mostly outside of the actual comic and is purposefully obtuse and ridiculous. However, anybody that has ever read a licensed fantasy novel or attempted to immerse themselves in the lore of an RPG or CCG will find this absolutely hilarious. The premium content at the back of the book is devoted to the Elemenstor Saga, consisting of an introduction to the joke’s concept and some excerpts of the vast fan-authored wiki page. My only disappointment is that The Halls Below doesn’t really cover the second half of this enormous in-joke: the rival “franchise” Song of the Sorcelator, and its flamboyant mastermind, L. H. Franzibald. Yes, it's as funny as it sounds.

It’s kind of hard to recommend this to curious readers who aren’t already familiar with Penny Arcade, since the actual website is the best place for that. But speaking as a longtime fan of the strip, this is a nice little curio, and worth buying just for the additional commentary on each strip....more

A woman fighting zombies with an axe in a bookstore? How could I not be curious after just looking at the cover? I saw this one getting decidedly mixeA woman fighting zombies with an axe in a bookstore? How could I not be curious after just looking at the cover? I saw this one getting decidedly mixed reviews, but honestly, I found it to have nearly everything I was looking for in a zombie apocalypse book. Granted, there are a few things that I think could have been done better, but generally speaking, I had a great time reading this.

The title aptly describes the framework and entry point of the book: Allison Hewitt, a literature major and bookstore employee, finds herself locked in her place of employment after the zombie apocalypse spills across her town. Against all odds, she manages to find a wireless Internet connection near the bookstore, through some kind of emergency network called SNet. Allison begins to record the daily horrors of her new existence, initially as a way of staying sane and embracing something that seems normal. Eventually, however, the detached snark of her entries evolves into something else, as she moves to increasingly tenuous sanctuaries and her circumstances grow more desperate. Meanwhile, a community of survivors grows out of the blog's comment threads. Her new, faceless audience provides solace, warning, and advice as she decides to risk everything and strike out on her own to find her mother.

The story progresses exactly as one would expect, and though it contains plenty of familiar tropes, it feels distinctly like homage rather than retread. The secondary characters are just fleshed out enough to avoid being cardboard cutouts, but honestly, Allison has such a strong voice that I was largely fine with focusing mainly on her. The current example of a contiguous ensemble piece in the zombie genre is The Walking Dead comic, and that has rapidly devolved into a histrionic melodrama; comparatively speaking, I find the focus on one character to be refreshing. Her constant sarcasm does threaten to get in the way of the dialogue and action from time to time, especially when Roux puts especially elaborate one-liners in her mouth. However, it’s a fair price to pay for the creepy sense of whistling in the dark that it provides. Naturally, there’s plenty of wading through zombie gore and battling past sinister human survivors, and the book never gets boring, despite the various claustrophobic settings in which Allison finds herself trapped.

I do think that the book’s gimmick falls a little flat, or at least falls short of what it could have been. Telling the story of the zombie plague through a blog is a really neat idea, even with the vague and unrealistic setup it gets here. The comments, especially, are an intriguing way to move the story along. While Roux does some interesting things with this in the beginning, it eventually tapers off in favor of long-winded posts that look suspiciously like book chapters, with a few repetitive “good to see you’re still alive” comments tacked on. It doesn’t feel like Roux fully commits to the idea of this story being a blog. Between the weird present-tense delivery and the gradual inclusion of very specific narrative detail, the posts just don’t seem like posts. Nobody writes a blog like that, even if they have nothing else to do. There are a few instances of awkward writing that I choose to attribute to Allison instead of the author, but I wanted more consistent dedication to the format.

That particular failure to suspend my disbelief didn’t take away from my enjoyment, though. Terror, humor, violence, and romance are deftly mixed, and I found it genuinely hard to put down. Though this book isn’t particularly elegant, it’s still going up on my zombie pantheon shelf alongside Max Brooks....more

The halfway point of the Scott Pilgrim series is where things start to get a little more complex. We’re still firmly on the “beat the evil exes to datThe halfway point of the Scott Pilgrim series is where things start to get a little more complex. We’re still firmly on the “beat the evil exes to date Ramona” boss-battle rails, but in Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness, an evil ex of Scott’s shows up, as well. Despite the story getting a little deeper, I had a little more trouble getting into this one than I did the previous books.

At the end of the last volume, Ramona reveals that her next evil ex is Todd Ingram, who just happens to be the bass player for the art-rock band The Clash at Demonhead. Incidentally, that band’s frontwoman is Envy Adams, the femme fatale who broke Scott’s heart by cheating on him with Todd, sending him into the pathetic spiral of insecurity and self-pity that he’s currently trying to fight his way out of. Got all that? As it turns out, Envy’s callous toying with Scott in the previous book has a purpose. She knows all about Scott’s quest, including some mysterious information about who Ramona really is. Further, she’s determined to see that Scott fail once and for all, at the hands of her current true love.

Getting into Scott’s backstory a little more is nice. The one consistent problem I’ve had with the books so far is Scott being somewhat of an unsympathetic jackass, and so a little exploration of the relationship with Envy and what went wrong alleviated that a little. In fact, it was done in a fairly brilliant way, paralleling the “main quest.” The cool art, hilarious sarcasm, and trademark video-game chic are all still in effect, as well, making for a read that’s at least as fun as the first two.

I kind of felt that O’Malley wanted to balance the more complicated plotline with an extra helping of jaded cleverness, though, and it got on my nerves a little. The story of Scott and Envy is told in choppy flashbacks that are interspersed with the main story, and the vignettes occur literally without warning upon the turn of a page. In fact, other than some slightly different hairstyles on the characters, a page turn is the only clue that the story has shifted to a flashback, every single time. It’s disorienting the first few times it happens, and annoying every time after. I could have lived with the haughtiness of it all, but it happens just a few times too often. Too many flashbacks, too little attention to the main narrative. I also thought that the forays outside the fourth wall were a little ham-handed this time around, compared to the previous books. Tablature play-alongs and impromptu cooking shows were quirky and clever; references to “the book” and character acknowledgments of a deus ex machina are trite by comparison.

All of which is not to say I didn’t like this one. I just liked it a little less than the first two. One positive note is the strong feeling that the story is going to shift a bit, now that we’re past the midpoint. The hints about Ramona’s past are much more pointed in this volume; the next three will hopefully change things up from the current formula. Even with the little problems I had, I got the definite feeling that the overarching story is really crystallizing by this point. Best of all, it does so without losing any of the charm, humor, or ridiculous over-the-top theatrics that I liked in the first two so much....more

This one falls outside of my normal reading habits; while I’ve developed a bit of a weakness for teen lit/YA/whatever you want to call it, I don’t typThis one falls outside of my normal reading habits; while I’ve developed a bit of a weakness for teen lit/YA/whatever you want to call it, I don’t typically delve into middle-grade fiction now that I’m so far beyond my middle grades. I picked up an ARC of this because it looked cute, though, and it didn’t disappoint.

This is apparently the latest in a series of Lin’s books about Taiwanese-American girl Pacy. In this volume, she goes on a summer trip with her family to Taiwan. In the past, Pacy has felt like the odd girl out for being the only Asian kid in the room, but she feels a new anxiety exploring her parents’ homeland as she realizes she now sticks out for being profoundly American. Even her talent for art, the thing that she truly believes makes her special, is put to the test. Thanks to the company of her family and plenty of interesting things to see and do, though, what starts as a scary journey to an unfamiliar land ends up being fulfilling and even profound.

There isn’t much to say about this book that the description doesn’t tell you, but as the title suggests, Pacy’s tour of Taiwan revolves around the food she eats. Maybe my gluttony is showing, but I can’t think of a better way to do it. The descriptions of all the various foods were a nice, immersive touch, and the occasional illustration of said foods and other Taiwanese cultural items were a whimsical addition to the story. This is definitely targeted towards younger readers, but it’s a cute story that offers a friendly introduction to Taiwanese culture, and the travails a kid must go through when trying to navigate their own ethnic identity....more

Back when I was a teenager and first dipping my toes into writing fantasy fiction, one of my regular characters was a bumbling wizard that constantlyBack when I was a teenager and first dipping my toes into writing fantasy fiction, one of my regular characters was a bumbling wizard that constantly broke the fourth wall. I hadn’t known at the time that I was essentially doing a rough-hewn Terry Pratchett impression; in fact, at that point I’m pretty sure the only humorous fantasy I had read was a book somewhere in the middle of Piers Anthony’s Xanth series. I read Pratchett’s Soul Music not long after creating that character, and realized even then that I had found something that would amplify and resonate my still-developing sense of humor. At last, here was a book that had everything I wanted from humorous fiction: a fantasy setting, plenty of magic, random absurdity, armloads of meta-humor, and a smirking disregard for the fourth wall. Also, unlike Anthony’s books, it didn’t leave me with the lingering urge to take a shower.

The slapstick aesthetic of the Discworld books (at least, the ones I’ve read) make them a little hard to follow. I’ve always wanted to try them from the beginning to see if things feel a bit more concrete that way, but now that I’ve read the first book, I have to say that it didn’t really help. In fact, this book hopped around so much that I was past the halfway mark by the time I got oriented and comfortable with the material. The Color of Magic is ostensibly a tale of the hapless wizard Rincewind, a naïve tourist named Twoflower that finds excitement in the most dangerous places, and a mysterious, ambulatory, and sapient piece of luggage, which follows them whereever they go and causes no end of trouble. In actuality, the book is a collection of four bizarre vignettes that are tied together by a whirlwind tour of Discworld’s odd cosmology, which is loaded with delightfully silly words and concepts, and often seems made up on the spot. The book is essentially a starting point for Rincewind, and an introduction to the Discworld universe, without much in the way of an actual story. It’s best described as a few zany episodes, capped off by a cliffhanger ending.

As such, it must be said that this is a bit of a niche read. It’s not for everyone. Enjoyment of this book hinges upon having an appreciation for wordplay, British humor, and fantasy clichés. Also, one can’t be too attached to the traditional ideas of character and story structure, or at least be open to the idea of deconstructing and satirizing them. That being said, I had a great time with this book once I adjusted my expectations. It was lighthearted and genuinely funny (in a shake-your-head-and-grin way, rather than a laugh-out-loud way), without being patronizing or one-note. The random locales and situations are hilariously inventive, and there are patterns of consistency throughout that effectively create a sense of setting and highlight what are sure to be future plot threads. While I suspect the quality of the later Discworld is much better, comparitively speaking, this is still a great read for anyone who wants to get away from the self-importance of most fantasy fiction and indulge in a little silliness....more

This has been lurking around in my to-read list, but after meeting the author and discussing the different editions of Dungeons and Dragons with her,This has been lurking around in my to-read list, but after meeting the author and discussing the different editions of Dungeons and Dragons with her, I had to bump it up to the top. I’m decidedly outside this book’s target audience, but ended up relating to it anyway.

The most interesting thing about this story is its determination to blend a surprisingly accurate portrayal of playing D&D with a fairly standard “affluent teen girl has affluent teen girl problems” romantic comedy. These are two audiences that one wouldn't think would intersect all that often, but that seems to be the point of this book. Jessie Sloan is the quirky and interesting girl that has never had to really stop and consider how quirky and interesting she is, due to the conventional popularity of her big brother and circle of friends. When everybody shifts their social colors without her, though, she finds herself alone and insecure. If she can get past her first bonafide identity crisis, she might find true kinship where she would have never thought to look: among the kids that dress funny, act oddly, and spend their free time rolling characters and creating campaigns.

This is not a book to read if you are looking for a deep examination of teen angst, or an earth-shattering romance. This book maintains a very light-hearted tone, and even the more mature moments that deal with sexuality are handled with a casual touch that is, ultimately, quite realistic (since adults do a lot more hand-wringing over that kind of stuff than teens themselves do, like it or not).

I think the reason I got so caught up in reading this despite not being particularly interested in the romantic travails of a teenage girl is that the characters feel fleshed out and alive. Jessie is delightfully awkward, and her relationships with her brother and parents are sweet and believable. The antagonists are not archetypes, but simply the villains a lot of us remember from our own high school days: "friends" who aren’t mature enough to realize how crappy and selfish they’re being. Best of all, the nerdy kids are actual people. They aren’t Comic Book Guy caricatures, and they aren’t “geek chic” models that are tarted up with a few gaming references. They are exactly as I remember me and my friends being: occasionally awkward or immature, and in dire need of advice when it comes to wearing clothes that fit properly, but otherwise normal and generally nicer and more accepting than a lot of their peers. Most importantly, they are unashamed of their interests, and seem to really enjoy themselves. Most of the book chronicles Jessie’s attempt to understand this attitude and reconcile it with the lessons learned from years of hanging out with the cool kids, and this is what drew me in. Well, that, and the fact that I started reading this around the same time I was preparing to run my first D&D game, which probably put me in the right frame of mind.

I suppose there are a number of things I could seek out to take issue with, but I don’t really want to bother. I enjoyed this book from cover to cover for what it was, and would recommend it to anyone who is in the mood for a light-hearted YA romance. Be warned that you’ll get a crash course in Dungeons & Dragons and live action role-playing in the bargain, but I promise it isn’t too nerdy for you non-nerds to handle....more

After being underwhelmed but intrigued after reading Zoe’s Tale earlier this year, I’ve been meaning to start John Scalzi’s Old Man’s War series fromAfter being underwhelmed but intrigued after reading Zoe’s Tale earlier this year, I’ve been meaning to start John Scalzi’s Old Man’s War series from the beginning (I’ve even bought the whole series since then). Instead, I picked this book up on an impulse, after hearing so many good things about it. I vacillated for a while, wondering if maybe Redshirts is a little too smug for its own good. Overall, though, the book’s concept is strong and the story is legitimately exciting and often hilarious. Mild spoilers ahoy.

The title of the book refers to the random crew members on Star Trek (especially the original series) that you can tell aren’t going to make it past the second commercial break. You know what I’m talking about. When a routine away mission to perform an ostensibly boring task on a nondescript planet is revealed to be made up of Ensign Bob and three senior officers, at least one of whom should be on the bridge of the ship, it’s clear right away that things aren’t going to end well for Bob. The book uses this established truism to launch a transparent parody of sci-fi television tropes.

The story revolves around a group of fresh-faced Universal Union cadets, newly assigned to the UU flagship, the Intrepid. Once there, however, they quickly realize that something is amiss. The ship’s crew goes out of its way to dodge away-team duty, which has a consistent track record of random accidents and bizarre fatalities. The senior officers often act inexplicably strange, and people take every opportunity to dodge them. Even the laws of science tend to go a little weird on the Intrepid, from time to time. Investigating these odd occurrences leads to a crazy theory on what the Intrepid really is, and the newest redshirts embark on an equally crazy mission to possibly save themselves from an early, meaningless death.

Redshirts appeals to the same group of people who enjoyed the brilliant satirical movie Galaxy Quest: those who love science fiction television enough to poke fun at its glaring flaws. Scalzi uses metahumor for this purpose, to great effect. The first half of the book is packed with in-jokes, and the second half plows right through the fourth wall and makes a determined assault on the fifth. This element of the writing is consistently funny, but it also gave me pause in the first few chapters. Scalzi’s trademark wit in both narrative and dialogue is present here, and combined with the emphasis on metahumor, there were quite a few moments where I felt a little stir of annoyance even as I smiled. Golly gee, I would think to myself, isn’t this book just so goddamned clever. Look how clever you are.

The thing is, though, it really is clever. The concept never strays into being the one-trick pony it could easily be; Scalzi gets a lot of value out of the “we’re expendable” meme, but he deftly sets it up as an integral part of the plot, so it never feels tired. Instead of repeatedly going for the same joke, he layers a bunch of other metafictional elements on top of it. The result is a mishmash of gleefully absurd and unexpectedly somber moments that create a fast-paced, engaging story; in other words, a classic pulp science-fiction plot. I couldn’t put this book down, and since it’s pretty slim to begin with, I tore through it much quicker than most of the books I read.

It does have its problems, though. You may notice that I did not mention any specific characters in my synopsis above. That is because the main characters are largely indistinguishable from one another. The narrative of Redshirts is enormously reliant on dialogue, and Scalzi eschews any sort of physical description of the protagonists, except for mentioning that one of them is a woman. The hero, Andrew Dahl, has black hair in my mind’s eye, but I can’t remember if he’s written that way or if I just did it on my own to make him stand out. Anyway, this can be an effective writing tactic if the characters' voices are distinct, but all of the heroic redshirts (and a good number of the supporting characters) repeatedly fall back on the same sardonic wit for which the author himself is known. They all quickly started to bleed together, and that honestly made me care a bit less about them. One could argue that it’s another satirical reference, but it doesn’t feel that way.

The codas at the end of the book are the big payoff, and they are solidly written and emotionally powerful. They are also radically different in tone and format than the rest of the book, and while I wasn’t overly bothered by the shift in gear, I kind of wish all of that interesting, affecting stuff was somehow integrated into the main story.

All of those issues circle back to the general tongue-in-cheek tone, though, which taken as a whole is what makes the book work so well. There’s a genuinely gripping story and hints of existentialism hiding underneath the snark, too, which ensures that the book transcends mere parody. I can definitely see where it might lose some readers; hard science-fiction fans will probably be annoyed by the blurry, completely nonsensical plot mechanics that drive the last part of the story. I took my cue from the general tone of the book, though, and didn’t get bogged down in the details. This is quick read that has a lot of pathos lurking alongside its deft satire of genre tropes, and is required reading for anybody that has ever attended a sci-fi convention or can rattle off actual episode names of their favorite series. Also, it comes with a companion song from Jonathan Coulton, which only adds to its credibility....more

This is one of the many books that I should have read a long time ago, and I finally picked it up in honor of Banned Books Week. For some reason, I caThis is one of the many books that I should have read a long time ago, and I finally picked it up in honor of Banned Books Week. For some reason, I can never get the teens in my library interested in this one. After reading it, I’m going to redouble my efforts; this is a powerful, funny, and heartbreaking book.

The story is a semi-autobiographical account of Alexie’s own childhood, told through the lens of a physically weak but fiercely intelligent 14-year-old American Indian named Arnold Spirit Jr. Having grown up on the Spokane Indian Reservation amidst rampant alcoholism and crippling poverty, Junior (as he’s known on the rez) clings to his flawed family and his rough best friend, Rowdy, and draws comics as an emotional outlet. A chance encounter with a teacher convinces him that in order to escape the downward trajectory that seems to afflict everyone he knows, he must attend Reardan, the affluent, all-white high school outside the reservation. His unprecedented defection makes him an outcast both at his new school and among his own people, and seems to bring nothing but further tragedy down upon his head. Even so, he is determined to stay the course he has set, relying on his wit and strength of spirit to find new friends and make peace with the upbringing he is trying to escape.

This is a fairly standard Bildungsroman, and follows a familiar course as Junior breaks into adolescence and emotionally matures. The book stands out, however, in the voice of the boy telling the story. The story started as an anecdote from Alexie’s own childhood, and it shows; Junior’s diary bleeds with emotion, by turns furious, despairing, and prematurely world-weary. That being said, this book is consistently funny. Between Junior’s sharp, self-effacing wit and his satirical comics (adeptly drawn by Ellen Forney), his story is buoyed by absurd vignettes, made poignant by the earnest seriousness of his circumstances.

While the plot itself is standard YA fare, the depiction of life on an Indian reservation isn’t. Alexie paints a picture of desperation and racial tension that is unique to one particular group of people that remains mostly underrepresented. Most importantly, he showcases the issues that a boy of Junior’s culture must endure while still making him universally relatable. Arnold Spirit Jr. is a 14-year-old boy, and ultimately faces the same trials any 14-year-old boy must face.

I feel like I’m ranging all over the place while trying to review this book, but that might be appropriate. Junior’s story whipsaws between hilarious and heartbreaking, and doesn’t waste words while doing so; this is a slim book and makes for a very quick read. It’s worth a look for anyone, though, regardless of age. At its most basic level, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is a diverting, visually interesting, and bittersweet little story that also serves as a primer for Alexie’s other works. Also, it’s frequently challenged by parents who think it will introduce their preadolescent children to the concept of masturbation. So, if you don’t find that as amusing as I do, at least read it because all banned books deserve to be read....more

I got this one by winning a stack of Dark Horse books in a raffle at this year’s ALA Annual Conference. I didn’t think much of it at first; it’s veryI got this one by winning a stack of Dark Horse books in a raffle at this year’s ALA Annual Conference. I didn’t think much of it at first; it’s very short, and looks like a novelty piece or an offshoot of a larger work. I was hooked by the second page, though. The humor alone is worth picking up Doctor Grordbort’s Contrapulatronic Dingus Directory.

This is essentially a fanciful catalogue of intricate, highly dangerous ray guns and other equipment for manly men who want to conquer the moon people and impress at social gatherings. There is no story to speak of, beyond the common elements of an alternate retro-futuristic universe where rugged, mutton-chopped adventurers traipse across the solar system, pillaging planets and seducing space vixens. The weapons, gizmos, and robots share a distinct H. G. Wells vibe, and bristle with random tubes, antennae, bulbs, and unpronounceable pseudo-scientific elements. The book is capped off by a richly illustrated vignette of Lord Cockswain’s adventures hunting exotic Venusian wild game with even more exotic weaponry.

Even though the book is slim (it’s even shorter than it looks, thanks to the thick cardstock pages), there is a lot of content packed into each page. The print is small, and the format perfectly emulates an old-timey pamphlet. There is a mix of illustrations and actual photographs of the products (designed and built at Broadmore’s day job: special effects powerhouse Weta Workshop) and each entry comes with both specifications and marketing copy. These little articles are the reason to flip through this faux-brochure; they are drenched in wry, bawdy humor that starts out hilarious and gets progressively more absurd. Offhand descriptions of violent intended use and horrific side-effects sit alongside meaningless retrotechnobabble and meathead slogans that could fit in an advertisement for “natural male enhancement,” all with subtle world-building and steampunk-esque gewgaws in the background. It’s a rollicking mess that’s perfect for reading in bite-sized chunks. The mini-comic at the end doesn’t add much, but the artwork is gorgeous, and it presents a nice thematic punctuation mark.

I don’t usually offer more than a middle-of-the-road rating for story-light companion pieces like this one, but I bumped it up a bit just because I found it so funny. The sense of humor is reminiscent of the violent buffoonery and bravado of the video game Team Fortress 2; sure enough, as I discovered, you can get “Grordbort packs” in the game for the Soldier, Engineer, and Pyro, with more on the way. Absolutely perfect....more

This volume is similar to Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness, in that it breaks the formula to slow things down a bit and get all introspective. IThis volume is similar to Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness, in that it breaks the formula to slow things down a bit and get all introspective. It’s exactly what the series needed at this point, but just as with the third volume, I found myself scrabbling for purchase a bit before hopping on board.

The ongoing war against the evil exes is almost an afterthought, this time around. That battle goes on in the background and is resolved quietly and without much fanfare. Meanwhile, the bulk of the story is dedicated to the ongoing friction between Scott and Ramona, with Scott beginning to suspect that Gideon is not quite gone from Ramona’s life, and Ramona finally realizing that Scott is kind of a tool. This is where the series’ trademark comic book/video game magical realism enters the picture, with a subplot of everybody noticing and talking about the glow lines that radiate off of Ramona’s head when she gets upset, or when the subject of Gideon comes up. The book ends on a double-cliffhanger that leads deliciously into the final volume.

The art and humor are still as perfect as they are in the previous volumes, and I ate this book up just as fast as I did the ones before. But I’m starting to think that O’Malley does hyperkinetic slapstick a little better than exposition, at least in the Scott Pilgrim books. The cuts between scenes were a little harder to follow than usual, and the story seemed to meander off into aimless directions a little more often.

But that comes with the territory of setting up the climax, I suppose. In any event, the quiet little tragedy that has sprung up between Scott and Kim Pine, deftly foreshadowed in previous volumes, is worth the price of admission alone. I found that more interesting than the “Scott loves Ramona” headline stuff. So, yes, this book does its job, but thanks to the consistent 8-bit slacker humor, it’s still a blast to read on its own....more

As others have noted, it’s a little difficult to review these books. They are collections of strips from Penny Arcade, a popular webcomic, and you eitAs others have noted, it’s a little difficult to review these books. They are collections of strips from Penny Arcade, a popular webcomic, and you either like the strip’s random and often crass humor or you don’t.

Though this volume jumps publishers to Oni Press (yay!), it contains the exact same visual layout and formula as the previous volumes: a chronological presentation of Penny Arcade strips from 2007, with additional commentary on each from writer Jerry Holkins. I was prepared to rate this one lower than the previous two books, as the extra content (which is, honestly, the only incentive to spend money on a physical artifact of the comic) is extremely slim and almost half-hearted this time around. However, I discovered that this collection contains some of my all-time favorite PA strips (“The Couch Dialogues,” “Brains with Urgent Appointments,” and “Pendulous and Vile”). Despite my burning need for more behind-the-scenes stuff, the comic itself carries this volume to the finish line.

I think I’m finally getting used to Mike Krahulik’s current art style, but this era of Penny Arcade still represents my favorite iteration of Gabe and Tycho. The difference between the art on the cover and the art in the book is pretty striking, but the characters are still expressive and I have a soft spot for the bold, hard lines Krahulik was drawing at this point in time.

So, once again, this is great for established Penny Arcade fans. However, I’d argue that this volume is the best entry point for those who aren’t already familiar with the strip, as well. The humor is on point, especially considering the prophecies and foibles that emerge due to the original strips being published at the dawn of the current console cycle, six years ago. With the next generation on the horizon, this book makes for a good retrospective....more

It took three volumes, but I’m finally as excited about the Season 8 comics as I am about the television series that spawned them.

This book begins witIt took three volumes, but I’m finally as excited about the Season 8 comics as I am about the television series that spawned them.

This book begins with the one-off comic “A Beautiful Sunset,” which is largely exposition. It’s a short exploration of Buffy’s anxiety and isolation as the leader and figurehead of the new slayer army, but it also continues two important plot threads: an explanation of where the slayers get their wealth and material resources (and the first rumblings of the consequences thereof), and Buffy’s first direct confrontation with “Twilight,” complete with motive-laden monologue and a surprise ass-kicking. We also learn who it was that awoke Buffy with true love’s kiss in the last volume, which quickly becomes important.

The “Wolves at the Gate” arc starts with a literal pack of wolves at the gate, which quickly resolves itself as a cabal of Japanese vampires who can shapeshift and fade into mist, abilities supposedly reserved for the ancient vampire Dracula. These mysterious vampires overrun the castle’s defenses and make off with the Scythe. Buffy and the rest recruit none other than Dracula himself to help track them down in Tokyo, before they fulfill whatever dark purpose they have in mind.

After two volumes that seemed ponderous and disjointed to me, Goddard wrote a Buffy book that finally conjured the show’s original spirit. The characters in the comics have always felt genuine, but this time around, the dialogue had all of the familiar beats and the climactic battle was appropriately zany while still carrying thematic weight. This arc is as self-contained as the first two, but there is plenty of movement on the larger plot. The Scoobies take on and vanquish the villain of the week, but interpersonal conflict nibbles at the edges, and the Big Bad lurks ever closer. Best of all, the inclusion of Dracula worked magnificently. I hated Dracula in the show, but not only is he extremely funny here, but the apparent relationship that has sprung up between him and his “ghoul” Xander between the show and the comics (and Buffy’s tolerance of that relationship) is legitimately interesting.

Jeanty’s art seems to polarize readers, but I’m still enjoying it. It’s functional and easy to follow when it needs to be, particularly during the action sequences, but it’s frequently evocative and beautiful as well. He continues to walk a fine line between drawing the actors from television series and putting his own artistic slant on the characters. While I find some of the characters hard to recognize (Andrew, in particular), Jeanty draws them all consistently, and that's what really counts.

When I finished the book, I figured that people would have some problems with the more over-the-top elements of this arc, and was proved correct when I skimmed a few other reviews. I’m not going to spoil anything here, but suffice it to say that I think people are being a bit hypercritical. Buffy’s surprising romantic liaison makes perfect sense in context of her character arc and the pattern of her past relationships. Dawn’s appearance in the Tokyo battle is no less bizarre or punny than past episodic battles (remember: this is the villain of the week we’re talking about, not the Big Bad), and while it can come off as a bit culturally insensitive, I considered it a nice counterpoint to Dracula’s casual old-world racism. And the character death in this arc did feel a bit tacked on and gratutitous, but come on, everyone. This is what Joss does. I barely even notice it anymore.

This book isn’t really perfect, as comics go, and it certainly doesn’t say anything profound as a piece of comic literature. But I ripped through this one on a lazy weekend, enjoying every page, and was left with the impression that I had just watched an unreleased and particularly interesting episode of the show. That’s everything I could possibly ask for from a Buffy comic. My faith is restored....more

Everything a strapping young lad or literate young lady needs to prove their mettle and launch a preemptive counterattack on the buffoonish thugs thatEverything a strapping young lad or literate young lady needs to prove their mettle and launch a preemptive counterattack on the buffoonish thugs that infest our moon!

Thematically, this book is exactly the same as Doctor Grordbort's Contrapulatronic Dingus Directory, the previous Broadmore comic I read and reviewed (right down to the cardstock pages). Aside from the hilarious ray-gun "advertisements," though, this book offers an expanded array of alternate-universe steampunk delights, including some full-page propaganda posters, a Venusian wildlife guide, product testimonials, interplanetary tank reviews, and two extended adventures of the inimitable Lord Cockswain.

In other words, I found this to be an extended version of the first book, essentially. More of the same bawdy, quotable weapon blurbs. More fascinating worldbuilding buried under the gadgetry porn and bravado. Cockswain's stories once again left me a bit cold, but the artwork is beautiful, and that extends to the weapon and alien designs throughout the entire book.

There isn't much literary heft to this comic, but it made me laugh out loud more than once. It's a great little diversion for any sci-fi fan, and doubles as a real-life product catalog for those who are into steampunk cosplay....more

Two volumes in, I still can’t quite find the words to describe how much fun this comic is.

FDA agent Tony Chu has come into his own as a cibopathic detTwo volumes in, I still can’t quite find the words to describe how much fun this comic is.

FDA agent Tony Chu has come into his own as a cibopathic detective. Able to read the history of anything he eats, Chu can solve a crime by chewing on anything edible left at the scene (which, since his boss loathes him, often ends up being poop. Or a corpse. Or poop from a corpse). After losing track of his erstwhile mentor, Mason Savoy, Chu rediscovers an old partner from his police days and absconds to an obscure Pacific island, in search of information on a bizarre fruit that mimics the taste of illegal chicken meat. While there, he runs into a sinister cibopath that both Savoy and the Russian assassin at the Arctic observatory foretold.

Honestly, I don’t even know how to wrap my mind around this series. The unfolding story is so weird that it defies synopsis, but rest assured that it does unfold, and all of the weird bits in this story arc connect beautifully to the weird bits in the previous arc. The only problem I had with this volume is that it’s almost too weird; I don’t really understand why Chu is seeking the fruit, what the fruit has to do with the banning and smuggling of chicken meat, and what exactly was accomplished after the standoff at the end. Still, I recognize that a lot of this might be addressed later, making this a bit of a transitional volume.

Guillory’s stylized art is still beautifully expressive with just enough drift into gore and absurdity. The facial expressions and body language are particularly good, and while the character proportions are odd, they are consistent and work well for the story. Speaking of which, Layman’s story is crude, ridiculous, and hilarious, and yet is brilliantly written and (so far) plotted as tightly as any epic novel.

Seriously, read this comic. It’s the most unique thing I’ve read in quite some time....more

This sweet little graphic novel is Telgemeier’s memoir of a freak dental accident in middle school, and the effect of the various orthodontic remediesThis sweet little graphic novel is Telgemeier’s memoir of a freak dental accident in middle school, and the effect of the various orthodontic remedies on her as she navigates the already fraught transition into high school. Smile, an Eisner Award winner, has been on my radar for as long as I’ve been a professional librarian, and I’m glad I finally picked it up.

The book is happily thick and meaty for a comic, though naturally it reads fast. The art is lovely. It’s bright and cartoonish, but very expressive and complex when it needs to be, and full of great little details. I enjoyed the settings in particular; many comic artists give background short shrift in favor of the action, but for some reason the setting really grabbed me while reading this. I think the autobiographical nature of the book is part of it, since setting is so integral to memory. Growing up in the same general area as Telgemeier had something to do with it too, I imagine.

In fact, a lot of my love for this book comes from my ability to identify so closely with it. I mean, I’ve never been a Girl Scout, and thankfully have never had any teeth knocked out. But you better believe that I remember not being able to eat Corn Flakes for a week after getting the wires on my braces tightened, because my teeth ached so much. I remember the Loma Prieta earthquake vividly. And I definitely remember the epiphany I had at around the same age as Raina in the comic, when I realized that some of my friends weren’t actually all that nice to me. Telgemeier captures all of these external and internal events beautifully.

The pivotal moments in the story are predictable and given a fairly mild treatment, but that’s a meaningless complaint coming from an adult reader. This is a great comic for middle-grade readers (of any gender, I maintain, though it’s an especially good pick for girls), and honestly it’s a good choice for the library of any comic fan....more

Once again, a subjectively enthusiastic review for a collection of one of my favorite comic strips. Nothing much new here; once again, if you're a fanOnce again, a subjectively enthusiastic review for a collection of one of my favorite comic strips. Nothing much new here; once again, if you're a fan, you've already read these strips online. If you're not familiar with Penny Arcade, give them a try if you play video games and have a high tolerance for profanity and absurdity. Krahulik's art is consistently hilarious and Holkins is one of my favorite writers, even when he goes overboard with the vocabulary porn (which is most of the time, and probably is a factor in why I like him so much).

You can see in this collection the beginnings of Krahulik's evolution from the art style in previous years to the one he currently uses. I still prefer the older stuff to the John K.-esque drawing he does now, but I'm coming to appreciate why he's going that way. The characters are much more expressive (and, as a result, a lot funnier).

Holkins' commentary isn't quite as as illuminating this time around, since he spends a lot more page space relying on the original posts he did when the comics were published online. The extra content is as spare as it was in the previous book, too: concept art from the Paint the Line card game. However, paired with the special presentation of the Paint the Line 2 strips in this collection, I still enjoyed the addition.

So, yeah: another good choice for existing fans, and volumes 7-9 are a good place for anyone new to the comic to jump in. Also, the cover and the blurb on the back are funny enough to be worth the cost, if one was in any doubt....more